Page 7 of Crown of Olympus
Seated to Aphrodite’s left was Poseidon — Zeus’ brother and god of the seas. His furious ultramarine irises pierced mine, as though he were imagining peeling the skin from my bones. Knowing him, he probably was.
Poseidon clutched his trademark trident so tightly his knuckles had blanched, the oversized fork so obviously compensating for what he lackedelsewhere. And no, I wasn’t referring to all five feet of his stature.
Next sat Ares, the fiery and brutish god of war and violence. His vibrant red hair swayed around his shoulders like a livingflame, though his amber eyes were cold as ice. Arrogance and temper warred equally within him; if one failed to appease his ego, they could safely assume they’d soon be burned.
Then, Artemis and her twin brother, Apollo. The pair may as well have been hewn from midnight granite for how still they both sat. They cut imposing figures in their silence, long black hair and deep brown skin gleaming with the subtle glow of celestial power. The similarities ended there.
Artemis, the goddess of the hunt and the moon, had woven her ebony locks into tiny braids, accented by minute silver beads, giving the vague impression of stars in a night sky.
Apollo had twisted his own hair into waist-length dreadlocks, golden beading glinting in the midday sun — befitting the god of the sun and healing.
Her dark gaze pierced through pretence like an arrow loosed from her silver bow. His was contemplative; golden eyes locked on mine, unblinking.
To Apollo’s left sat Hephaestus, the god of craftsmanship. He was a gargantuan god, built like a mountain, solid and immovable. Standing at well over nine feet tall and nearly half as wide, his body was as much his creation as the weapons forged in his workshop. His muscles boasted thickness and power, built by time and by his own hammer and anvil. But it was his words one needed to be wary of — like the whisper of a blade drawn in silence. When Hephaestusdidspeak, one would do well to listen.
Hestia was next in the circle of gods. The goddess of family and home sat back elegantly in her seat. Astute, like a mother keeping a watchful eye over her children. Typically, a neutral party in clashes between gods or wars affecting the three realms, she was a peacekeeper. But even she was glaring at me now, brows lowered, judgement firmly in place.
Beside her, Demeter appraised me slowly, blonde waves concealing half her face as she dipped her chin. Technically,she was my grandmother — though she looked only slightly older than my thirty years. While we were not close, we shared a familiar grief. Demeter mourned my mother so terribly that parts of the mortal realm remained forever frozen. Her icy grief mirrored my own.
Beside my mother’s mother perched Athena, her close friend and fellow Primal. With one toned leg crossed over the other, she held an air of casual grace and poised power. The goddess of wisdom and warfare regarded me critically, no doubt assessing the potential threat I posed. I raised a solitary black brow in silent challenge. Athena’s striking blue eyes narrowed for a heartbeat before one corner of her red lips tugged upwards. Unintentional perhaps, but amusement softened her features nonetheless.
The impatient tapping of winged, sandaled toes caught my gaze next — Hermes. The god of travel and thievery fidgeted with his gilded staff, feet thumping along to a tune only he could hear. Oily black locks hung across his face as he rested his chin on his palm, scowling. Agitation and boredom did not become him.
Finally, I locked eyes with Hera, seated regally on her throne, the seat beside hers notably empty. Her face was etched into a glare so foul lesser gods would have trembled.
Iwas no lesser god.
Tartarus would feel like a warm, summer’s day before I gave that bitch the satisfaction of eliciting anything more than apathy from me.
All of the major players in the Titan War were present, excluding the recently deceased Zeus and of course, my father. I slowly perused the circle of gods again, my cold gaze weighing each one.
Though they were all officially at war until the crown settled upon one of their wretched heads, tempers were surprisingly held in check. I figured it wouldn’t take much toshove them over that edge, however. Soon, they would be arguing and competing against one another like they actually believed they could sway the crown’s decision.
Furies, maybe they could. I wanted no part in it, other than to do the shoving.
Fate, of course, had other ideas.
Hera opened her mouth to speak, but the arched portal at the rear of the room flickered with golden light, stealing all our attention. A god-shaped silhouette appeared within the archway, and footsteps sounded as a tall, white-haired male passed through the magic of the arch. He strode purposefully into the chamber, twelve sets of eyes tracking his every movement.
“Apologies for my tardiness,” the god said, his deep voice thundering across the room.
“Caelus?” Hera’s perplexity would otherwise be amusing, were I not trying to connect the godly dots.
“Mother.” He dipped his chin in greeting, walking past her to stop in front of the only empty golden throne — Zeus’.
Bold move.
“Just what do you think you’re doing here? We are in the middle?—”
“Of a meeting. Yes, I’m well aware.”
He dropped into the gilded seat gracelessly and without ceremony. Tilting his face upwards, his eyes met mine for the first time since arriving. They were an unsettling metallic silver, like liquid mercury — and just like his father’s.
The memory of Zeus’ eerie stare locked my muscles in place. I barely breathed, my face frozen in disdain.
Caelus frowned, pressing his thumb to his chin while his forefinger curled against his lip, contemplating.
“Excuse me—” Hera began, indignantly. The decibels she’d just produced, combined with her pitch of a banshee’s wail,would surely be the cause of a migraine soon. Could gods even get migraines?
